The 64th Annual Hunger Games
by xanderfeatherstone
Summary: Follow the story of Xerxes Featherstone, the top ranked 17 year old career trainee in the 4th district. The story examines the struggle Xerxes faces as he balances the duty that comes with his skills and age with the desires and needs of those whom he loves. As a son of a former Hunger Games champion and the brother of a tribute who died in the arena, the decision is not easy.
1. Chapter 1

I get out of bed this morning a little earlier than usual. Even though the reaping is upon us, I can't help but feel upbeat today. I get out of bed and give Lilly a kiss on the top of her forehead but then I let her sleep in a little bit more, knowing that everyone else will appreciate it if she's well rested. While making my way to the pantry, I notice that my mother's already awake and reading in her favorite chair. Our dog Maze is on the ground next to her. "Hey mom," I whisper as I give her a kiss on the cheek and pat Maze on the head. "Do you want some breakfast?" She shakes her head no.

It must be that time of the year again. I wonder what's going on in her mind as I tear off a piece of slightly crusted salty bread and eat it for breakfast. She takes the annual reaping much more seriously than I do. My name will only be inserted into the glass bowl seven times, but for her I'm sure that that's seven times too many. We haven't spoken about this year's Hunger Games. As her youngest child, I'm thankful to know that this will be her last time ever having to go through the torture that most parents experience this time of the year. Well, at least until her grandchildren go through it. In the back of my mind I wonder if she thinks I'm going to volunteer for the games. I have repeatedly told her it won't happen, but if I'm honest with myself even I don't know what I'm going to do.

I don't want to volunteer, but as the top ranked tribute at the career center I know that many parents and trainers are hoping and expecting that I will step forward. I wish they thought about my living situation and why it would not be a good idea. I wish they thought about the fact that my mother has already lost a child in the Hunger Games. Unfortunately, the only thing that matters is the "1" beside my name at the training center. Other years, I may have had an excuse. When I was fifteen and younger, I was too young and older kids could volunteer. When I was sixteen, I had another year to wait. This year, I know I do not have much of an excuse. If my name isn't drawn in a week, I'm hoping for an older kid to be picked. With my luck it will probably be a 12 year old with one entry among the thousands in that big glass ball.

If that happens, I know that some eyes are going to be turned in my direction. Perhaps the family of the unfortunate tribute-to-be will plead with me to take their son's place. Perhaps the trainers will glare at me with their normal disapproving looks as I stand quietly watching an unfortunate, less talented kid walk slowly to his grave. Will I give in to the pressure at that moment, or will I think about Lilly and my mother? If the reaping were today, I think I wouldn't volunteer. In the back of my mind though, I wonder if I would win. The temptation to honor my district, spare another kid's life, and move back into the Victor's Village all seem like appealing options to me. Thoughts for and against my volunteering linger back and forth in my mind. I know that district one and two will provide some dangerous opponents, male and female. Then I would wonder if I would be likable by the residents of the capitol. Haman Blodget, the head trainer at the center thinks that my personality is my biggest weakness. I tend to agree. Sadly, they don't really teach personality at the center. You either have it or you don't. A lack of personality doesn't breed much compassion in the eyes of those wanting to decide my fate.

Forgetting about the near future and looking ahead to today's schedule, I have a good reason to be excited.

Today is the day of the monthly fishing competition between myself and my best friend and fiercest rival, Finnick Odair.

It's a beautiful spring day as I make my way to the ocean along the path from the school. With five hours to spare between now and training, I need to catch as many fish as possible. I'll have three hours to catch the fish, an hour to trade them at the market at Promontory Point, and then an hour to get to the training center. Cloudless days are usually the best days to catch fish because the water is clear and the fish are easily visible. Fortunately, I don't see a cloud in the sky today.

As I make my way along the shore and over the dunes I see Finnick getting ready. Of course he managed to get here before I did. No matter how early I get to the beach, it seems like Finnick arrives a little earlier. Sometimes I wonder if he lives here. I'm bigger, faster, stronger and more mentally tough than he is, but he's a far superior swimmer and he has that typical Odair charm. In the short span of my life, I have never seen a kid quite like Finn. Even at the age of 13, he's shaping up to become a man who will break many hearts. Tall, bronzed, handsome, and already a threat to take my spot as the top rated tribute in training at the district four training center. I have openly wondered if he would volunteer for the games when he's older. I couldn't see him losing. His breed is a rarity.

I don't entirely know why we're such good friends. I think it may be because he's a thirteen year old with the maturity of someone a few years older and I'm a seventeen year old with the maturity of someone a few years younger. It may also be because we're such fierce competitors. I'm usually not so friendly with my rivals, but there's something about Finn. I want to dislike him out of pure jealousy but I can't. When I compare myself as a 13 year old to Finnick, I know I'm severely lacking. If the roles were reversed and he was a 17 year old, I highly doubt we would even be able to have these competitions. Regardless, I sometimes wonder if it is even possible to dislike the guy. So far I haven't found a reason.

I get to the shore where Finnick has his usual trident and nets spread out and ready to go. I never understood why he trusts in the trident so much. We both know that tridents aren't used in the arena. If he's ever selected for the games, he's going to be at a disadvantage for that reason alone. I have tried to tell him repeatedly that the spear is the way to go but he never listens. His grandfather used a trident. His father uses a trident. He uses a trident. Two things tend to run in the Odair family, charm and tridents. I guess it doesn't really matter when it comes to fishing though. We're both pretty deadly with our weapons of choice. I feel more in control with a spear. The trident is too top heavy for my tastes. It took Finnick a little while to get a handle of the weapon, but he's finally getting used to it.

"Hey Finn," I say when I get within talking range.

"It's about time Xerxes" Finnick replies without turning away from getting his gear in order, "I was about think that you weren't going to make it" he pauses. "Perhaps you're getting a little nervous?"

I laugh out loud. He has never beaten me, but he's still filled with his usual irrational confidence.

Once a month for the past two years, Finnick O'dair and I have had a friendly fishing competition. Over the span of three hours we try to catch as many fish as possible. Finnick uses his helpful but inferior trident and I obviously prefer the spear. At first, it wasn't very close. I would catch twice to three times as many fish as Finnick. He would struggle with the trident due to its weight, but I never tried to persuade him to get a lighter one. I knew it would make him stronger as he filled out. Even at the age of thirteen he has become very proficient.

Last month we had our closest battle to date. With one hour to go, Finnick was ahead by two fish. Realizing I needed to push harder, I caught twelve fish in the last hour. Final count: Finnick Odair 27, Xerxes Featherstone 28. Ever since the moment when we realized I had won by the slightest of margins, Finnick has been talking about this day incessantly. At last, today was going to be the day that Finnick O'dair would get the best of me. Or so he thought.

I tried to brush his talk aside, saying that I really wasn't trying until I realized how well he was doing. We both knew that was a lie though. I never catch more fish than on the days when Finn and I battle. We both have a little extra incentive to win today. For all either of us know, this could be our final battle. The reaping awaits. We haven't talked much about the possibility of my volunteering. We both know he has a rebellious heart. He would love for nothing else but the Hunger Games to come to an end. I care about those things too, but I don't see myself as the kind of a person who would start a revolution.

While setting out my spears and nets, I notice somebody out of the corner of my eye. A skinny, short preteen girl with dark hair and piercing green eyes is making a trail in the sand towards us. It can only be one person.

"Annie?" I say in surprise. "What are you doing here?" Finnick lets out a little snicker.

"What? Do you honestly think I'm going to miss the day that my Finnick Odair finally gets the best of Xerxes Featherstone?," she replies.

With those seemingly meaningless words, a fire burns my insides. "Really Finnick?," I snort. "Annie? Of all people, Annie? How many times have you told me how much she annoys you? I'm beginning to think of you as a liar."

"That's just a game Xerxes, I know the truth," Annie replies while batting her eyes lovingly towards Finnick. "Even though he's an older man and I'm just a little munchkin, I can tell that he's in love with me."

Laughing, Finnick responds with a gentle let-down. "Okay Annie, you may not annoy me but I can assure you that I'm definitely not in love with you."

I take a glance towards Annie to see if her feelings are hurt. I can tell she's not convinced.

We both make our final preparations. I have my longest spear and two nets in hand ready to sprint into the ocean. Finnick is equally ready with his trident. I may not be as sure of victory as I was in the past, but one look at that silly weapon gives me all the confidence I need. We both give each other a furtive glance and then turn our heads back towards Annie.

"Annie, will you do the honors?" Finnick asks.

"Certainly my love," Annie responds causing Finnick to roll his eyes. "Ready." One last glance in Finnick's direction. "Set." My muscles get tense as I wait for the charge. "Go, Finnick, Go!" I may be wrong, but I think Annie want's Finnick to win.

We're off! I try to push Finnick with my left hand as we make our way into the ocean. Of course I hear Annie in the background crying about the injustice of my move. We both sprint to our favorite fishing spots and immediately take cautious steps towards schools of fish. I feel my confidence and strength growing with each minute. Almost every throw is on target as I catch a few bluefish, speckled trout, and flounder. I find myself able to use my spear and nets to their maximum potential. I think about the items I'm going to trade these fish for at Promontory Point. I'll probably get enough bread to last a week. Hopefully I will be able to get some goat's milk. If I'm lucky I'll find a little gift for Lilly and mom. Even in the thick of the competition I'm afforded a lot of thinking time.

In the distance, I can see Finnick. I brush it off as a coincidence, but every time I look over in his direction I only see him using his trident. "Weird, I wonder if his father made that suggestion," I think to myself. Even though I'm sure of another victory I don't take much of a break. I deftly make my way towards another spot in the ocean where I find a school of catfish. Catfish are easy to catch because of their size, but if I catch too many of them I have to head back to the shore to drop them off. Within a matter of just a few minutes, I am able to catch five.

While I lay them on the beach, take a breather, and get a sip of water, I ask Annie how Finnick's doing.

"Oh, he's beating you. I bet he caught something like 100 fish by now. Isn't he so dreamy?"

Why did I even ask? Since we started our little friendly competition two years ago, my biggest haul was 34 fish. His best month was last month, when he caught 27.

Regardless, I wonder if there's perhaps a half truth to Annie's words. Maybe he's actually winning this time. I better get back in the ocean.

I rush into the water ready to make my final push. I look off in the distance and it appears that Finnick has completely ditched his net in favor of his trident. Could he really be so confident with that archaic weapon?

My final hour turns out to be my best in years. I find another school of bluefish and in fifteen minutes I'm able to catch six. After a few more minutes of walking around, I catch a trout, two ladyfish, and a flounder. I end my hour by spearing two more ladyfish, one more trout, and one more bluefish. Fourteen in the last hour. I had to have won.

"Time's up Finn!," I yell out across the water.

As we walk towards our starting point, I can tell that Finnick's time wasn't wasted. I have never seen him catch nearly as large of a grouping of fish as he caught this morning. Still, my pile looks a little bigger than his. When we get back to Annie, I see the faintest of smirks on Finnick's face. "I think I got you this time Xerx." He puts his final load with the fish he caught in the first couple of hours. Again, my pile looks bigger. "I wouldn't be so sure about that Finn. Look, my pile is bigger than yours."

"You're right," he replies "and if we're going by weight I think you would have me beat." For the first time all day, beads of sweat begin to form on my forehead. Then he turns to Annie. "So Annie, I have a question for you. How many years do you think we have been having our friendly competitions?"

"Well sweetie, I think it has been about two years," Annie replies.

"Correct," Finnick says. "And Annie?"

"Yes dear?"

"In all of those years, how has the winner been determined? Has it been by the number of fish caught, or by the weight of the fish caught?"

Annie pretends to think for a moment and then blurts out "I think the winner has been determined by the number of fish caught. And may I add that you looked very graceful out there Finnie."

"Thank you sugarpie," Finnick playfully responds. He then turns back to me. "You're correct again. And seeing as how I caught 36 fish with my trident, and Xerxes has never caught more than 34 fish, I'm willing to guess that I would be declared the winner."

"How did you-" Immediately, I rush to count my fish. I know I had a good day, but I'm getting a sinking feeling as I sort things out.

"Thirty one... thirty two... thirty three...," I hold up the last fish.

"Sorry Xerxes, I believe that makes thirty four."

Little bugger. Finnick Odair finally got the best of me.


	2. Chapter 2

Over my many years of knowing him, Finnick has been a model of humility in defeat. As a victor, he's even more of a gentleman. Thus, another reason why it is impossible to dislike Finnick Odair.

As we gather our belongings and make our way to the Promontory Point traders' market, I don't hear much bragging from Finnick. He did what he came to do and he won. I guess he didn't feel the need to rub it in.

Annie on the other hand is not nearly as charitable. It seems like every superlative I've ever heard is thrown in Finnick's direction. He's "handsome," "graceful," "smart," "beautiful," and of course "the best fisherman in the district" among many, many other things.

On a clear day, we can see Promontory Point from our preferred fishing spot. The walk is close to two miles and we're able to make the bulk of our trip along the shore all the way there. The now defunct lighthouse, which stands proudly and fearlessly at the edge of a towering 150 foot cliff serves as a beacon of hope for the entire district. It was one of the few historic buildings that made it through the rebellion relatively unscathed, and its location is a perfect meeting point for farmers, fishermen, and everyday traders.

When we get to Promontory Point, we part ways. Finnick lives a mile northwest of the market, and I live a mile and a half in the opposite direction. We'll both need to make our trades and head home quickly to get ready for training later today.

I decide to keep a couple of bluefish for dinner for the next two days, I'm able to get a good amount of bread and goat's milk. While perusing through other necessities, I wonder if maybe a new spear is in order, or perhaps even a trident. Clearly, I'm still reeling from my loss this morning, but just the thought of getting a trident makes me feel a little sick in the stomach so I decide to look in another direction.

With my mother and Lilly in mind, I try to find something to brighten their days and I stumble across an flat engraved piece of oak.

"Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." -unknown.

I'm struck. I immediately think of my mother and to an extent my father. We may not have turned out the way they expected, but I know they tried hard to teach us right from wrong. I think of the kind of man I want to be for my children. No matter where I live and what kind of life I lead, at this moment I'm struck with the desire to be a good father. I may still be young, but I have plenty of reasons to think about these things more than other kids my age.

I start to make my way out of the market. "Xerx," I hear the familiar voice behind me. "Wait up."

I already know what she wants. "Hey sis," I reply. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

It is neither pleasant nor a surprise and she can surely sense the sarcasm in my voice. My sister Xenia knows about my monthly fishing bouts with Finnick and she knew I would be at Promontory Point right now. Every time she sees me she either asks for food or something else she can trade. I sometimes think of saying no, but I know if she doesn't get it from me, she'll get what she wants through less appealing means.

"Yeah, good to see you too," she says, ignoring my jab at her. "Hey, do you think you can-"

"Why don't you just apologize to mom and come back home, Xenia. I know she misses you and you have to see that you were wrong about-"

"About what?" she interrupts.

"About Xander!" I raise my voice, with a clear sense of frustration billowing in my heart. "What else could I possibly be talking about?"

"Why does this always come up? I didn't do anything wrong Xerx, he should have won. If Mags had thought about giving him a spile or a water purifier, we would be living in the Victor's Village right now. And I wouldn't be-"

"Come on Xenia, I don't want to hear about what you would or wouldn't be" I reply, "And don't bring Mags into this. You know at that point in the games, the whole district would have starved for more than a week to raise the funds to give him those things."

"We could have fished!" she yells back.

No use in arguing over this anymore. It seems like we get into this debate every time I see her in the market. I say we wouldn't have been able to fish enough. She says we would have. Either way, our brother is gone and he's not coming back. I just want my sister to come home, but I know mom won't allow that until she apologizes.

I pause and look at my older sister.

"What do you want Xenia? Bread? A bluefish? Milk?"

She points towards the bread and I walk away with festering wounds reopened.

Six years ago, my brother Xander accidentally volunteered to be a tribute for the Hunger Games. He was a tall, strong, and very capable fighter and like me, he was the top ranked male at the career tribute center. Also like me, he faced a lot of pressure to volunteer but he decided against it. On the night before the reaping, Xenia talked to him and eventually convinced him about the possibility of volunteering for a younger tribute.

When the name was drawn the District Four escort Erasmus Pherenike pulled out the slip and read the name "Sheamus Pinkerton." We were all unfamiliar with the name. As Xander looked around, he noticed a 13 year old boy start to walk forward and quickly jumped in to volunteer. When it came time to say goodbye to Xander, we found out there are actually two boys in our district named Sheamus Pinkerton. The Sheamus that was drawn was the 16 year old Sheamus, not the 13 year old.

Mortified, my mother begged the Hunger Games officials to have Xander's name withdrawn but it was already too late. Once a tribute volunteers for the Hunger Games, he or she must go with no exceptions. To make matters worse, Xenia never apologized.

Xander was a fierce competitor in the arena. He refused to form any alliances and killed the male and female tributes from district one, the male tribute from district two, the female tribute from district five, and the male and female tributes from district seven. Unforntnately for Xander, the female tribute from district five was adored by residents of the Capitol. His sponsorships immediately dried up and on the fourth day of the games Xander died of dehydration,

Upon his death, Xenia left our house and eventually became a prostitute. I cringe whenever I hear her name mentioned, but from everything I have heard she seems to be a favorite among the peacekeepers in our district.

I make my way out of the market.

"Xerxes?" Xenia says, causing me to pause. "Do you really think she'd forgive me?"

I turn and nod. "Give her some credit Xenia, she's your mother."

I drop the food off at home, My mother is out of the house, so I just get what I need and leave. Knowing I'm late, I run to the training center. Although brief, my interactions with Xenia always get me behind on my schedule.

I don't want to waste too much energy because I know plenty of tortures will be awaiting me at the hands of our trainer Haman Blodget but I have little choice.

I get to the center five minutes early, which is perfect because I need to change into my training gear. Surprisingly, Haman takes it easy on the large group today. I wonder if he wants us well rested for the reaping. As we split into our different skill levels, I quickly realize that he only wanted the younger kids well rested. I guess he thinks the rest of us can handle an extra beating.

"Thrust! Twist! Kick! Ready position!" He yells out.

"Again! Thrust! Twist! Kick! Ready position!"

It all seems so elementary to us, but Haman loves the "thrust, twist, kick" technique. Haman basically teaches us to be prepared at all times. If we happen to have a sword in our hands and we're fighting against one or more other tributes in the arena, we need to kill the first one quickly by thrusting the sword into his or her abdomen... never his heart because it the sword could get stuck in the breastplate. Then we're supposed to twist the sword to loosen the blade. And then finally we have to hold our swords as tightly as possible while kicking the tribute off of the blade in case we need to be ready for another attack. Haman consistently preaches one fact to us. Even if we think our opponent is alone, somebody else could hear the fighting and try to surprise us. I appreciate his training, but I have been thrusting, twisting, and kicking for the last seven years and I'm visibly tired of it.

After about a half an hour of our sword training, we move to wrestling. Since Finnick is the second ranked career trainee, he's my training partner in everything except wrestling. I'm almost full grown and he's still growing. He may have gotten the best of me in fishing, but I don't think he will ever become a stronger wrestler than I am. Besides, he doesn't think he would use his wrestling skills much in the arena anyway. I tend to agree. He is fast enough to get away from any opponent, and even though tridents are rarely found in the arena, he would be very capable with a spear or knife.

For wrestling, I'm paired up with Junia Cocceius, a stocky dark skinned 17 year old boy from the southwestern portion of the district. Junia is a tough fighter. He's one of the best knife throwers I have ever seen. When it comes to wrestling though, I'm usually able to handle him pretty easily. Today is no exception, but I'm still worn out throughout our time grappling together.

When we're done with wrestling, Haman takes us to watch film of previous games. I'm excused from watching specific games for personal reasons, but I'm highly involved every other time. We don't spend much time studying the different tributes. After watching hours upon hours of film, I can get a general feel of what each district is going to put out. When we watch the film, Haman takes extra time to show us the look and feel of each , arenas tend to be very similar whether they're in a forest, on the beach, in a mountainous region, or in a jungle. There have been a few exceptions like the 50th Hunger Games, but I think the game makers are out of fresh ideas.

Haman usually starts out by pointing out the land. Certain trees are good for certain types of food and water. Sand is sometimes fine, but sometimes dangerous. We need to be very careful whenever we approach a body of water. This is particularly true since district four tributes have a natural tendency to want to stay close to any source of water we find. The image of the female tribute from district four during the 27th Hunger Games is still ingrained in my mind. The film shows her fleeing from a fire and running through a river, only to be eaten alive by a school of transparent fleafish. I couldn't think of a more miserable way to die in the arena.

Haman has taught me a lot over the years, but he greatest area of expertise lies with the edibility of certain foods. He tells us to be cautious of certain berries, nuts, and even animals, but then he lets us know what's okay to consume. This comes in handy with our tributes and it usually gives them a significant advantage. I remember watching the a district four tribute from the 48th Hunger Games kill five of her allies by giving them poisonous nuts. She ate hers with a sort of potion she made that neutralized the poison. I thought it was brilliant. The gamemakers weren't happy about the quick killings though, and after a relatively boring day, they killed her by releasing a pack of venomous squirrels in her area.

As we enter into the film room, I'm hoping to watch the 48th games again. Instead, Haman has a surprise for me.

"Boys and girls, I know that things have changed a lot in the last 63 years. The arenas are more advanced. The tributes have different fighting styles. Et cetera. Et cetera," he says. His et ceteras annoy me. "But I want to show you highlights of the inaugural Hunger Games."

I get up to leave.

"Oh, and Xerxes, I want you to stay this time."

I pause halfway out the door. "Over my dead body," I mumble.

"What was that Xerxes?"

I turn around. "Over my dead body, Haman!"

As much as I appreciate Haman for all he has taught me over the years, he has one area of intolerance. What he says goes. If you challenge him, you're in a world of hurt.

He walks towards me with a fiery look in his eyes. I take a couple of steps backwards out of the film room. In fearful anticipation, I put my fists up.

We're back in the main room of the training center as he lunges forward and takes a swing at my head. I duck and throw a punch to his ribs. My punch would have slowed down the steps of normal people, but it doesn't phase Haman.

He grabs me by the waist, throws me 10 feet into a wall. I get up as he takes two giant steps towards me.

In between gut punches, he makes his expectations known. "You will NEVER disrespect me in front of ANYBODY like that AGAIN," each word louder as I feel the effect of his blows on my spleen and kidneys. One final punch square in my jaw knocks me dizzy.

In pain, I fall to the floor and spit blood out of my mouth.

"I don't understand you Xerxes. It's not like your father died in the arena." Haman says, as he backs away from me. "He won. He brought honor to our district. The man gave us hope in a time when nobody in Panem had any reason to hope in anything. Not to mention the fact that he moved into the Victor's Village where you got to spend the first ten years of your life. You should be proud of him."

"I am proud of him Haman," I say slowly as I'm still reeling on the ground.

"Then why don't you act like it! If my father was Augustus Featherstone, I would want to watch his victory in the arena a hundred times. If it weren't for your fighting ability, you would be a disgrace to his name."

I can't say I'm taking Haman's words too well, but I'm okay with not enduring another beating. After another minute writhing on the ground, I'm able to get up. Haman grabs a rag for me to wipe my mouth and I make my way to the film room.

I don't know why I haven't watched my father's time in the arena until now. I think it was just the timing of everything. I spent the first ten years of my life living in the Victor's Village with my dad, my mom, and my siblings Xenia, Xander, and Xavier. I know that my father was known and respected as an honorable man, but he also had a dark side.

My mother was his second wife. He had four children with his first wife. The ones that are still alive are much older than I am, and apparently they live as far away from the Victor's Village as possible while remaining in the bounds of our district. From what he told me, everything was perfect in my dad's life until he realized that his kids would have to go through the reaping. For some reason, the thought never occurred to him. He must have hoped that his children would be granted immunity since he already had to go through the games. Instead, he went through the horrors of his oldest son and daughter being selected. Due to their sheltered lives living in the Victor's Village, both lacked the proper training to survive in the arena. Both of them died through exposure to unfamiliar elements.

Of course, the interest in those games among the residents of the capital was very high. This has led to more than a few conspiracies. Some think that children of former victors are more likely to be reaped. I think they may be on to something.

After losing his first two children, my father and his first wife went through a miserable divorce. Fifteen years later, he met my mother. I don't know what my mother saw in him. He's thirty years older than she is and even though my father vowed to have no more children, the four X's came out in two year intervals. I was the last of the X's. My father was 63 years old when I was born.

The thought of watching my father fight through his time in the arena pains me. Sometimes I wonder if he would have done things differently. If he could have gone back and relive his time in the arena, would he have wanted to live with the burden of the lives he took and the loved ones he was going to lose? Would he have chosen for his life to end there by prematurely jumping off of his platform? If I watched the filming of the first hunger games, I think I would see a sixteen year old kid with an irrational hope that things would be great if he could be the winner. While seeing him fight for his right to live, would I see unfulfilled dreams of a peaceful and thriving future?

As Xander laid there in the arena barely able to breathe and needing just a few spoonfuls of water to survive, I saw a look of despair in my father's expression that I had never seen before. For the first time in my life, I saw tears come out of his eyes. He was finally a helplessly broken man. I'll never forget the words he said after Xander died. "I wasted it. I'm sorry Xander... I'm so sorry Xander. I wasted it."

Two days later, he took his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Against my own wishes, I take a seat in the film room to watch my father compete in the inaugural hunger games against twenty three war torn tributes from the twelve shattered districts of Panem. My body still hurts from Haman's triumphant display of machismo but I actually feel like he took it pretty easy on me. I highly doubt he would want his top ranked fighter to have any severe hindrances on the day of the annual reaping.

Before he shows us the film, Haman makes a brief announcement. "Now I now most of you have seen this film at least once before, but I still want you to pay attention. These games were far different than anything we would see today. From everything I have learned and studied, it appears the gamemakers expected the first Hunger Games to last a few hours, at most a day. They really didn't know what they had until after they could process things once the event developed itself. So after the Capitol saw what they had, they made some adjustments the second year to make it more entertaining. You'll notice a much more raw version of what we have today if not something entirely foreign to you. So really, this is the only display of pure fighting we have ever had in the games and we're never going back. I'll be asking you some questions throughout the film."

The lights are turned off and the film begins.

Right away, I sense a keen dichotomy between certain tributes. As they rise into the arena, many tributes look like they have been trained for war. It appears that districts one, two, and four are not the only ones with tributes who would be known as "careers." Male and female, they look like fighters. It doesn't take me a long time to wonder if younger people were needed for the rebellion because of a diminishing supply of soldiers. Or perhaps the capitol purposely chose the top fighters from each district. My suspicion on whether or not these tributes were chosen wanes as I see a few of the weaker looking tributes. One boy has a missing leg. Another boy has a patch over his eye. Weak or strong, they all look ravaged and rattled from the likely events that took place over the previous years.

A thought arises. Who mentored these tributes? Did they even have mentors?

As the tributes are raised on their platforms I ponder what life must have been like for them. I would guess that every one of the tributes lost somebody close, which makes the unfortunate turn of events which led to the institution of the Hunger Games even more unbearable. I picture families at home decimated by war having to endure the loss of another child to the applause of a small grouping of morbid individuals.

I see my father in his youth on film for the first time and I can't help but feel the admiration and respect I had for the man in my ten years of knowing him. As dark as his last days were, I wouldn't want to call anyone else dad.

When he's lifted up into the arena, I see him in the glory of his physical prime. 6'4 or 6'5, close to 200 pounds, slender, muscular, and aside from his scars, almost perfect in complexion. I doubt I would have much of a chance in the arena if anyone like him was reaped this year.

Before the countdown is over, three tributes step off of their platform prematurely and are blown to pieces further confirming the possibility that they didn't have a mentor. This includes the boy with the missing leg. I'm guessing they weren't warned about that. Hmm, the first deceptive move ever made by a gamemaker. After the initial shock of seeing three kids' bodies blown away, the countdown is over and almost every tribute runs to the Cornucopia.

Big Mistake.

The bloodbath is quick and brutal. Knives thrown, swords thrusted, arrows shot. Throats slit, hearts pierced, heads smashed. Within a span of a few minutes, we're down to the final ten tributes. Fourteen are dead.

"You realize you can run and hide, right?" I say out loud without even thinking. Haman turns and gives one of his famous scowls of disapproval.

As if they heard me, the remaining tributes gather what they can and flee to the woods. I notice my father taking a sword and two orange backpacks. He jogs cautiously and disappears up a steep hill into the forest. He's followed closely by another tribute who seems to be keeping a safe distance.

Haman stops the film and gets another trainer to change the reel. Apparently, there wasn't nearly as much gamemaker manipulation back then due to the newness of the event for everybody, a luxury we have not had in many, many years. That would make sense. Perhaps there was no such thing as opening ceremonies and tribute interviews back then. I have seen film from almost every year, and it seems like it becomes more and more of a performance as time goes by. Everything has to be bigger and better. Everything has to be flashier. There always needs to be more drama and more surprises. And of course, there always needs to be a compelling story to follow. None of these things mattered nearly as much back then. The games were once viewed as a form of punishment, now they're viewed as a spectacle.

While the film is being changed, Haman asks us for a few observations. Without participating in the discussion, I sit back and I process everything I just absorbed in those first few minutes. It just didn't seem like anybody had a strategy, not even the gamemakers. Trying to put myself in the mind of a 17 year old boy back then, I wonder if anybody really had any idea what was going on. Was it even called the Hunger Games at the time? Or did they all just hear that they were recruited to join in a fight to the death.

Other trainees are sharing their thoughts while I sit there processing things. Noticing this, Haman interrupts my thinking. "Xerxes, did anything stick out to you?" I still try to formulate my thoughts into words. I'm sure it looks like I'm not paying attention. "Panem to Xerxes," he says again as he finally gets my attention. "Anything?"

"There weren't any alliances," I finally say.

"You're absolutely right Xerxes."

"No alliances?" I think to myself. "How can that be?"

"Here's the deal kids." Haman says. "You may like to think of yourself as an independent agent, but when it comes to your time in the arena you will die if you do not join forces with other tributes. Together you live. Alone you perish."

Together you live. Alone you perish.

I'm stunned. Haman isn't saying anything new, but I was always under the assumption that it was common knowledge in the arena that no matter how awkward it felt, tributes needed to form alliances with other tributes in order to survive. I clearly remember several alliances being formed from previous years. I especially remember that the second Hunger Games had several alliances. In fact, it seemed as if the tributes trusted one another a little too much. Perhaps that wasn't the case in the beginning though? I don't know. Maybe sometime early on, somebody thought it would be a good idea that he or she should join forces with somebody else. Still, that kind of thinking seems like common knowledge to me. Then again, these tributes didn't have a precedent. They didn't have the luxury of getting to review film the way we're reviewing it right now. They were reaped, they fought, and they died... except for my father of course.

What transpired between the year between the first and second Hunger Games to change such thinking?

Before I can think through these things more, Haman starts the second reel of film.

We see the tired tributes trying to figure out what to do next. Some look dehydrated, some look hungry, and others just look bored. Presumably, a day or two have gone by because some tributes are beginning to feel a little restless. The first few minutes of film show eight lonely tributes, not including my father. So in this span of time, maybe one person has been killed since the bloodbath. Maybe none.

Putting myself in their minds, after that initial bloodbath I would have thought things would go by pretty quickly. Instead, everybody ran off into the woods hoping for other tributes to do the dirty work and kill each other off. That would make sense to me.

A few minutes pass, and I get a shot of my father and I see another male tribute nearby.

"Watch out dad!" I scream out as I jump out of my seat, forgetting that I already know the outcome.

Other trainees laugh. Finnick looks at me and says in his most charming way, "I don't think you would be here right now if he died Xerx." I slap him on the back of the head.

"Sit down Xerxes. Open your eyes for once and look at what's happening," says Haman. My heart rate slows down and I'm able to eventually get a grasp of the moment.

The first alliance in Hunger Games history was formed by my father and what appears to be the male tribute from district 12. They're near one another and they're obviously conscious of the fact that at least one of them will die, and yet they're still working together. The film from the second Hunger Games are starting to make much more sense. It looks like both of them are setting traps. The boy from district 12 is digging holes in the ground, sticking sharpened pieces of wood in them, and then covering the holes with leaves and branches. Twenty feet away, my father is weaving nets and spreading them out in what he thinks are common walking areas. Even with ten tributes left, neither seems to be too concerned that one could kill the other at any moment. If I were in my dad's position, I'd nervously turn and look for the other guy every 10 to 15 seconds.

It appears that a satisfying amount of traps are set up throughout the forest. My father and the boy from district 12 work together as if they had known one another for years. They search for their opponents like a pair of predators hunting down their prey. Dad comes charging in on an unsuspecting tribute. Terrified, the tribute flees his camp straight in the direction of the boy from district 12. He doesn't stand a chance. Another tribute nearby hears a scream and a cannon and decides to run. A minute later she's caught in one of the nets woven by my father. As he kills her, I begin to notice conflicted emotions on the expression of his face. He knows she isn't his enemy, but he also knows that it must be done. If he doesn't kill her, she'll kill him.

I have heard from former victors that the arena has a way of turning harmless people into killers due to the suspended reality of the games, but then there are brief moments when you come to the realization that the person you're trying to kill is not a foe. It appears that every victor leaves the arena relieved to be alive but with scars that last a lifetime. I know my father had plenty of scars. When he slits the throat of the girl caught in the net, I wonder if she's one of them.

This same routine goes on for only a matter of a few hours until the end. A boy falls in a trap and is stabbed through the heart. A girl is chased up a tree and eventually shot with an arrow by the boy from district 12. Four tributes are found and killed. The rest are caught in traps. Even when they're down to the final three, my father remains allies with the boy from district 12 and doesn't turn on him. When they kill the last remaining tribute, they walk together to an open field congratulating one another for a job well done.

"What is going on Haman? Why aren't they fighting one another?"

"You'll see in a minute Xerxes," he says.

"Are you sure about this Haman?," another trainer asks timidly.

Haman nods without giving the inquiry much thought. The fact that the question even needs to be asked makes my palms sweaty. I'm not sure if I want to keep watching, but I know what the alternative is.

When they get to the open field, my father and the boy from district twelve separate themselves by about twenty feet. Both my father and the other tribute leave all of their belongings on the ground except for a sword and a shield.

When they are ready, they stand for about a minute in silence nervously looking at the ground, at each other, and back at the ground again. Finally their eyes meet and their gaze holds.

The boy from district 12 breaks the silence by saying "it was an honor fighting alongside you Sergeant Featherstone. I wish there was another way out."

"He was a sergeant?," I think to myself. "How was he even old enough to be a sergeant?

A tear goes down my father's face. "During and after the rebellion there was never a man I would have rather fought alongside than you. The honor was all mine Sergeant Everdeen. Are you ready?" he says.

"Yes sir," the boy from district 12 responds.

I'm frozen in my seat as I take this moment in. These two fighters were not boys, they were men. They stood strong during the rebellion and although they fought hard, they both accepted their fate in such a way that I could never imagine happening today. More than five different moments in Hunger Games' history dart into my mind. Moments where best friends, boyfriends and girlfriends, and even siblings turned on one another for the sake of survival. What are the odds that both of these men would be reaped during the same year? What kind of trust did my father have in this friend of his that allowed him to know he wouldn't be betrayed? What kind of bond was formed before the games that kept them loyal to one another until this point in time?

Perhaps war forms a tighter bond between fighters than anything else under the sun... except for maybe the bond between a parent and a child.

My father gets in his best fighting position. Sergeant Everdeen does the same. What comes next is an incredible display of sword fighting on both ends that I have never seen before in my life. Every attack has a defense and counter attack. Every thrust is deflected. Every swing of the blade is blocked by the opposing shield. It is as if they are able to read one another's minds.

Five minutes go by. Nobody budges or gives up any ground. The fighting stays tight and compact. Fifteen minutes go by. Both tributes are showing major signs of fatigue.

Finally, my father is able to kick his opponent's shield away. He throws his shield at the other boy to create a diversion. Before the other boy can react, my father's blade pierces his abdomen. The tribute from district 12 drops his sword, falls to his knees and lays on his side. Knowing that his job is not finished, I see my father twist his blade inside his opponents body and kick him off the sword.

Thrust. Twist. Kick.

Even after winning the games, he gets in his ready position.

I can see him doing the calculations in his head. Is he the only tribute left? After taking a few seconds to think through the entire games, he drops his sword and runs over to the other tribute.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Xander."

"Xander?" I think to myself.

"Dont waste it," he says, hopelessly fighting for his life.

I feel like I just got punched in the stomach. What in the world could Haman be thinking right now? In his mind, what kind of advantage could this possibly give me if I'm the one who ends up in the arena? Whatever his intended affect, I'm sure I'm thinking quite the opposite.

It is only at this moment that I fully understand the tragic life my father lived. It was a life filled empty hope and an unfulfilled vision. It was a life wasted with the excess and waste of the pleasures of the Victors' Village. It wasn't an overnight transformation, but slowly over time my father drifted away from being a passionate rebel willing to die for the right cause and for justice, and he was turned to a trophy. His victory wasn't just a victory for himself. It was a victory for the president. It was a victory for the Capitol. It was a victory for those hideous clowns who live in the Capitol paint their faces and dress themselves up in their bright colors. It revealed to our corrupt leaders that they could rule us with an iron fist as long as they gave us one thing... hope. 24 children dying in the arena would have caused another rebellion. 23 children dying in the arena gives an entire nation just enough hope to keep them quiet. My dad's victory gave the nation enough hope to prevent an uprising and his life of decadence and luxury gave us the misguided hope that there was a legitimate way out of our misery. When he won, the capitol won. When the fire in his heart cooled, the war for justice died. His life and the lives of every victor after the inaugural Hunger Games put out the fire of rebellion burning in so many people's hearts. His life turned actions into words and words into thoughts until even the thought of rebellion seemed like a far-fetched idea for another lifetime and another generation.

Now I know why he never showed me footage of the inaugural Hunger Games. I see why he didn't bask in the glory of the good old days when he was at his physical prime. The man I see in this film is not my father. The man in front of my eyes is a younger version of who my father should have been. Instead he slowly drifted away from his ideals and morphed into what he never should have been... a pawn at the disposal of the Capitol.

"I won't waste it sergeant. I won't waste a day," my father says back to his dying comrade with the purest of intentions. He kneels, lifts up his right hand, and gives Sergeant Xander Everdeen a three finger salute. He then stands up to salute the nearest camera he can find. In my mind I wonder if this world would have looked any different if Xander lived and my father died.

Before I can finish that thought, the cannon blasts.


	4. Chapter 4

I see my father lifted in to the hovercraft exhausted and emotionally drained before Haman gets up from his seat and turns off the film. Another trainer turns on the lights. Silence fills the room, and my guess is that one of two people in here right now are expected to say something. "Goodbye Dad," I whisper quietly to myself, knowing that the end of the inaugural Hunger Games is the end of everything my father should have been.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finnick and Junia looking in my direction. They must have heard what I said. I know that if I look at them, they're going to look away so why should I even bother?

I want to be alone right now. I want to leave this room, this center, this district, but I think the chances of any of those things happening are pretty slim. Haman looks around at the class and finally breaks the silence.

"Trainees and trainers, you're dismissed. Xerxes, please stay." Haman says.

I can hear groans and sighs coming from most of the other kids. Even some of the other trainers express their disapproval. I don't blame them, but I couldn't care less about what they want right now. Apparently they wanted to see my reaction and hear my thoughts to my first viewing of my father's appearance in the inaugural Hunger Games. For the first time tonight, Haman does something that wins my approval even though I highly doubt he's seeking it.

One by one, each trainee exits the film room. Haman walks to the door. "I don't want anybody here when Xerxes and I are done talking. Go home and get some rest," he says before closing the door. I'm able to hear more groans in the background. Maybe they were hoping to stick around and talk to me afterwards. Thankfully, I know they'll be gone.

After closing the door Haman pulls up a chair and sits in front of me with a concerned look on his face. The look surprises me.

He must know I don't want to talk to him right now. I would much rather have a day or two or fifty to sit down and think about everything my father was and everything he ended up becoming. He probably has no idea what I'm thinking right now. I bet he thinks I feel a sense of honor, knowing my father represented the district so well. Instead, I feel shame. It isn't hard for me to guess that Haman had other intentions when he forced me to watch the film.

I don't even bother trying to talk to him or even look in his direction. I'm sure he's annoyed, but I don't care. He couldn't possibly say anything encouraging or motivating to me right now. He unintentionally exposed my father as a fraud. He showed me a window into Dad's past that I never should have seen.

"Xerxes," he breaks the silence. "Your father was one of the greatest men I ever had the privilege of knowing in my life." With those words, I feel a burning sensation in my inward parts. If he said anything else, I would have felt better than I feel right now. Instead, he had to say that.

"You know nothing about father, Haman," I say.

"I knew enough," he replies. I find that doubtful. He only knows what he saw with his eyes. I know the real man.

"Is that all you want to say Haman? Am I dismissed?"

"Not yet Xerxes." I'm not surprised. "I want to ask you something and I want you to be honest. I have trained you here for the last seven years. Correct me if I'm wrong, but after tonight you have studied Hunger Games film from every year except for the 24th, 26th, and 60th games. Am I right?"

"You're right. Was that your question? Can I go home now?"

"You'll go when I want you to go," I can tell he's getting a little impatient with me. I don't blame him but I'm still agitated.

"My question is this. Have you ever seen anyone fight in the arena as well as your dad did?"

I know this is a loaded question with ulterior motives, but I still want to answer him honestly. I think through the sixty years of games I saw on film in this same room. District two consistently had the best fighters. Districts one and four were almost as competitive. Occasionally a tribute would come from one of the other districts with a skill that gave him or her a huge advantage. If we're talking about pure skill though? That's a tough one to think through. Almost all of the tributes from the first Quarter Quell were fierce competitors. Clearly, most of the districts had little choice but to vote for the kids they thought were most likely to win. The kid from district twelve who won the second Quarter Quell was also very tough. For some reason I can't think of his name. The girl from district six who won the ninth Hunger Games seemed to be the most well rounded individual I ever saw. Then there's Enobaria, the girl from district two who won two years ago. She was a rabid beast. I still have nightmares of her ripping her opponent's throat out with her teeth.

If I'm honest with myself though, my dad was the best. My opinion may be biased, but I don't think I'm wrong. I have heard plenty of people call Augustus Featherstone the greatest tribute ever reaped from district four. Some of his friends would say he was the greatest tribute ever reaped from any district. I just assumed they were biased. I would have probably disagreed until I saw that final sword fight with Xander Everdeen. Since I have seven years of training with swords, I know exactly what to look for. My father and Xander Everdeen showed me moves that were far more advanced than anything I have ever seen. It pains me to say it, but I need to concede the answer Haman is expecting.

"No Haman," I say slowly, telling him exactly what he wants to hear.. "He was incredible. But he also had an advantage over everybody else I saw."

Looking at Haman's subsequent expression, I think I just uttered something he wasn't expecting.

"What do you mean?" he replies.

"Okay, so he obviously didn't have training centers, mentors, film sessions, or anything else we have to prepare us for our time in the arena but he had something that every kid that has ever come from any district lacks. He had real life experience."

Haman is at attention.

"Sure he didn't train for the games, but he trained for something far more real and far more difficult. Not only that, but he managed to survive when a majority of the people in this country died. Don't get me wrong, our training is great. But we never get the real thing until we're sent to the arena. We fight against dummies, and we fight against one another, and sometimes if we're unfortunate we fight against our trainers." I look up. Haman cracks a smile.

"Without an actual rebellion though, we'll never experience what he went through. When I train here, I know I'm not going to die. We'll never know what it is like to fight for one's own life and livelihood and the lives of others. I absolutely would not want to go through what he went through, but he had it and we don't... at least until we're reaped."

Haman nods and gives a look that seems to communicate he's considering my interpretation. I wonder if he ever considered it before. I guess he hadn't. Hopefully I can go home now.

"You make some good points Xerxes. Let me ask you something else though. Why do you think I waited to show you that film until now?," he asks. "Why do you think I wanted to show it to you two days before the reaping?"

Uh oh, I know where he's going with this. I'm not so accommodating this time and I give him an entirely different answer than what he's expecting.

"I don't know Haman" I say, preparing for him to smack me in the face. "To show me that I'm not good enough to volunteer for the games?"

"Come on Xerxes!" he says while standing up and pushing his chair to the side. "I know that you know I didn't show you that video to try to convince you to sit this one out. I played that specific film at this specific time to communicate one simple thing to you Xerxes... victory is in your blood. Your father won, and you can win too."

Sigh. I knew he was going to say that. "I'm nowhere near the skill level of the kid I just saw," I say. "My father was a warrior. I'm just a product of the system. You're comparing a wild dog to a domesticated one. No matter how much you train the latter, I would always go with the former."

"That's where you're wrong."

"Oh really?" I ask. "What about my brother Xander? Wasn't he the top ranked trainee here four years ago? Didn't he get pressured to go to the arena? And what good did that do for him seeing that he's dead?"

"Your brother was a great fighter, but you're better. I see all of the strength, all of the intelligence, and all of the skill of that boy from our district all those years ago. When I see you, I feel like I'm looking into the eyes of Augustus Featherstone. You may not be as good of a swordsman as he was, but he was nowhere near as adept with a spear as you are. If you could fight against your father and you had a spear, you'd pierce his heart before he'd get within ten feet of you. Everything else is a wash." He sits back down. "Everything."

"The biggest differnce between you and your father is that isn't easy to craft swords in the arena. But spears? You could make an arsenal of spears at your disposal and you would never run out. You could turn the entire forest into a bunch of spears and kill every other tribute in a day."

He's beginning to exaggerate.

"Haman, I'm flattered by everything you're saying but you're missing one key point. I'm not even the best fighter in this district." We both know I'm talking about Finnick.

"Let me tell you something Xerxes. There's an element of truth to what you're saying, at least to an extent. If Finnick was four years older, yes he would probably be the top ranked trainee in our district. With that being said, you're more of a complete fighter than he is. You're capable of winning with a variety of weapons. Aside from your stubborn personality, what do you lack? I honestly think you could win with your bare hands. As of right now though, I could only see Finnick winning with two weapons."

"His trident," I interrupt.

"And his personality," he finishes. We both agree on Finnick.

I'm not convinced about myself though. In the past when I studied some of the best tributes, I was never intimidated. I thought I could beat most, if not all of them in one on one combat. If I'm allied with the tributes from district one and two, I wouldn't even need to worry about one on one combat until the end. When I think about it, the Gamemakers would be the only opponents who would scare me. I'm trained to fight and I'm trained to discern between what's good and what's bad in the arena. One could never be trained for the element of surprise though. Every year provides a new wrinkle in the games.

"I know what you're thinking Xerxes," Haman says, as he interrupts my train of thought.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"You're thinking about the Gamemakers." I hate it when he's right. "That's exactly what I'm thinking about," I concede.

Haman starts back up, "I paused the film between the bloodbath and for a simple reason. I wanted you to see that things we take for granted nowadays were not simple assumptions 63 years ago. You saw the three kids jump off their platforms prematurely, right? Isn't that the first thing we learn in training? Those kids may have been able to fight, but they were never trained to survive the spectacle of the Hunger Games.

"Nobody ever thought of forming an alliance. Even in the arena, your father was revolutionary. If he and the boy from district 12 weren't reaped it would have taken years for anybody to think of joining forces with one of their opponents. And before you even say anything, I know his alliance was formed due to a previous friendship, but I have no doubt he would have formed an alliance with another tribute if Xander Everdeen wasn't there. Your father helped shape the Hunger Games for entire generations.

"Xerxes, I have no doubt that you have the same adaptability. I know I have never said this before, but your ability to think and react is unlike anything I have ever seen from a trainee in my 27 years as a trainer in this district. You'll be able to think two and three steps ahead and you'll endure whatever the Gamemakers throw at you."

So I have adaptability? Why is he waiting until now to tell me this? I have been coming here four days a week for the last seven years. I never sensed any form of admiration, affection, or approval from this man. Never once did I get anything resembling a hint that he liked me. All of a sudden, two days before my final reaping and three hours after he almost broke my jaw, I'm getting this?

"What do you want from me Haman?," I say. For the first time since the end of the filming, I look him in the eyes.

"I want you to volunteer Xerxes! If a twelve year old kid is reaped, I want you to volunteer. If a seventeen year old is reaped, I still want you to volunteer. If your name isn't pulled from the giant glass ball in two days, I want to hear the words 'I volunteer' coming out of your mouth. I hate to see so much talent wasted. I want you to go into the arena. I want you to win the Hunger Games. I want you bring honor back to this district. It has been seventeen years since a tribute from district four has won the games. That's far too long for a district with the best trainers in Panem. Between you, Finnick, and a few other people we have training with us, we could win this thing several years in a row."

"I need to think about it." I say in an unconvincing tone.

In all reality, I don't need to think about it. I'm not volunteering. Haman thinks of the Hunger Games as an actual game. I prefer to think about it as life and death. Call me crazy. The sooner I get away from Haman, the sooner I can get home to mom and Lilly. I want nothing more than to go to my house, lay down in my bed, and process everything that happened tonight. Haman doesn't back down though.

"Yeah, go ahead and think about it. While you're thinking about it, think about the parents of the poor boy whose name is going to be reaped in a few days. Think about your father, who went through the pain of losing three of his own children. Think about what it would be like to lose your own children ten to twenty years in the future. And then you can think about the fact that none of it needs to happen because if you fight, you will win."

"Okay," I say to Haman. "I'll think about it."

Haman appears more disgusted with me than ever. "You'll think about it," he mockingly replies as he walks to his office. "I was born at night Xerxes, but I wasn't born last night. Whenever somebody says 'I'll think about it' I know the answer is 'no.'"

I want my next words to have their full effect so I try to time them perfectly."I'll think about it Haman," I say as I gather my gear. I have no doubt now that the message is clear between us. I'm not volunteering and he knows it. The only way I'm entering that arena is if my name is announced on the day of the reaping.

I'm sure he doesn't know it, but the film he showed me was counterproductive. He wanted to flatter me and inspire me as if I was the kind of career trainee who only thought about the riches and glory that come with winning the games. Perhaps he thought that visions of going back to my old life in the Victors' Village would lure me away from my responsibilities at home. Instead, I saw what a life of vanity and monotony did to my father and I don't want anything to do with it. I'll die a painful death before I let fame and fortune do to me what it did to him. Give me poverty. With it, I'll take integrity, honor, and a humble life as a son, brother, husband, and father. I will have chosen the better path.

I gather the rest of my gear and put it in my bag. Before walking out the door, I turn around and say goodnight to my surely downtrodden head trainer.

"Good night Xerxes," he replies. I turn back, open the door, and take my first step into the mild darkness that is soon to surround me. "Oh Xerxes, one more thing," he says, causing me to swivel my ear back in his direction. "You should probably make some final preparations at home. You never know when you'll be called upon to take a trip to the Capitol."

I walk outside so stunned by those final words that I might collapse. The darkness has never felt darker.

My first thought comes quickly. The Gamemakers are going to make an arrangement and my name is going to be pulled out of the glass in two days. Somehow they must have informed Haman of their decision. Something doesn't add up with that hypothesis though. What about the conspiracy theorists? If Augustus Featherstone has a fourth child enter the arena, won't it validate their suspicions? And if they're convinced that the system is rigged would that plant the seeds of a rebellion? I'm sure they're very conscious of these things.

I weigh my thoughts more as I take the long and lonely walk home. I wonder what else he could have possibly meant. While walking I come to the realization that my bag feels a little lighter than it was when I got to the training center. I open up my bag and realize that the piece of engraved wood I bought at the Promontory Point traders' market is missing. It must have fallen out when I was gathering my gear together. I was clearly rushed because of my argument with Xenia so I'm not surprised I didn't notice. I turn around and head back to the training center.

Hopefully my mother will still be awake because I really want her to see what I got. I want her to know that she did her best with what she had despite our many shortcomings and despite the fallout with Xander, Xenia, and my father. I want her to know these things before she says goodbye to me and before she witnesses the death of her youngest child.

I get back to the training center and all of the lights are out except for the light in Haman's office. It's dark in main room, but not dark enough to see where I left the piece of wood. I grab it and get up to leave until I notice that Haman is not alone.

"Yes sir," Haman says loudly. I can't hear the other voice.

"Yes sir," he says again. I decide to creep slowly to his door.

I peek through a crack and I notice a young man dressed in black and red. He appears to be in his early twenties, and there's no doubt he's from the Capitol. He's a thin, medium height man with dark hair, light blue eyes, and a neatly designed beard. I have never seen a beard used as such a tool for fashion before. Nothing from the Capitol surprises me though.

"Enough of the formalities," the man says. "Tell me about the kids you're training here? Any strong fighters this year?"

"I have some great kids," Haman replies. "I can't wait for you to see this one kid in action. Finnick Odair is his name."

Finnick?

"I'll tell you something. I have never seen anyone like him in my life. Now, he's only thirteen so you're going to have to wait a couple of years. I'm telling you though, I haven't seen anyone like him since Augustus Featherstone. He's talented enough to win on his own, but even if he wasn't, Mags would have no problem rounding up sponsors. He's a once in a lifetime kid. I swear, if he was born in the Capitol he'd be our next president and the entire nation would love him."

They both laugh.

"Well I'm looking forward to seeing him mature. Any update on Featherstone's youngest boy?" the man from the Capitol asks.

"Yeah," Haman hesitates. "He's our top ranked trainee, one of the best we've ever had. He's talented, he's definitely smart, and I know he has a good head on his shoulders. He's not nearly the fighter his father was, but oh man what an incredible story that will be. I mean, if you want something that the Capitol citizens would eat up... He's tall, muscular, good looking, and not only is he the Augustus Featherstone's last available child, but above all other tributes who have entered the arena, he will have something to fight for."

"But?" the man asks.

Haman pauses reflectively. "But we're going to have to be very creative when it comes to actually getting him in the games. His oldest brother and sister were reaped and the Sheamus Pinkerton incident was brilliant for Xander. If he had won, it wouldn't have worked out more perfectly."

The man from the capitol laughs. "I bet you regret that one."

"Not really." Haman chuckles. "I was surprised to get Xenia on board with it, but we both thought Xander would win. He was doing well until you took his only available source of water... tell your coworkers that I'm still upset about that one. But yeah, how could I have predicted the fallout with Xenia and Augustus? Should I regret it?"

"I don't think so," the man from the Capitol responds. "That made for some great drama. Obviously it would have been a tremendous opportunity for you if he won, but you were still richly rewarded. On the bright side though, what are we going to do for the youngest Featherstone boy?"

"I wish I knew," Haman says as he twirls a pencil around in his fingers. "Trust me, I have tried for the last two years to convince him to volunteer. The boy is stubborn as a mule. I mean, tonight I showed him the film of his father for the first time. He resisted me, but I forced him to watch it. When it was over, I asked everybody to leave and I tried telling him that he and his father were equals in their fighting ability. I wish I was more persuasive, because he might have seen through that lie. Do you know what he said to me after all of that, and after all of my years of pouring my blood and sweat into making him the finest fighter possible? He'll 'think about it.'" Haman uses is fingers to make quotation marks. "Give me a break."

Haman pauses. "I wish we could just rig the stupid thing and have him reaped!"

"You know that's not an option," the man from the Capitol replies.

"Yeah, I know," says Haman. "I'll try to think of something."

"I'm sorry Haman," says the man from the Capitol. "There's nothing else."

"No! I'm tired of this god-forsaken place. We have an agreement. I give you our best tribute with the best story line, and if he wins, you give me a one way ticket to the Capitol to be an assistant Gamemaker. There has to be something, anything else!"

The man sits in his chair, leans forward and looks Haman straight in the eyes. "His name will be dropped in that bowl seven times. If he is not chosen and he doesn't volunteer, there's nothing else. You'll have to wait until another year when the offer is proposed again."

Without making a sound, I make my way out of the training center and walk the lonely path home on one of the darkest nights of my life. In all my days except for the three day span when Xander and my dad died, I have never felt so desperate, so despondent, so alone.

For all I know, I may or may not be reaped in two days. It appears my chances are just as strong as any other kid my age. Until then, I'll live my life under the assumption that I'm not going to be a tribute in the 64th annual Hunger Games. I will not know for sure until the male tribute is announced. After that, I'll hopefully go on to lead a normal life.

While I'm walking home, I'm comforted by one simple fact. My training was optional, and my training was technically illegal, but my training was not wasted. Sooner or later it will be put to good use.

Sooner or later I'm going to kill Haman Blodget.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up to an eerie silence. Lilly is still asleep next to me. I walk out of my room to my mom's favorite rocking chair. Nothing. Before I start to worry, I unexpectedly hear a familiar voice from behind me.

"She's not here Xerxes," my brother Xavier says. "You'll see her at the reaping."

"Xavier?" I ask, "What are you doing here?"

"I just had a feeling. As I was sitting there working in the mines, I couldn't prevent myself from thinking that this might end up being my last chance to see you. How could I miss out on that?" Xavier says.

I'm slightly skeptical.

"So you came all the way from district two?" I reply.

"Yes, Xerxes. I asked for permission to take a brief leave of absence."

"Well I hate to burst your bubble, but I don't think I'll be representing our district this time around," I say.

Xavier doesn't look surprised by my words. While sitting there and pondering his response, Maze comes up to him and puts his head in his lap. He was always Maze's favorite. He takes a look down while pondering his next few words.

While he sits and pets Maze's head, I can't help but wonder if Xavier is here for other reasons. He has been working in the mines in district two for about a year now, and I know he's making a name for himself and he's already rising through the ranks. Even at 19, he looks and acts much more like a man than any of his peers. His wife Euodia is three months away from giving birth to their first child, and I know that he or she will be well cared for.

Like Xander and me, Xavier was trained at the career training center. He was the second ranked trainee, so he didn't feel as much pressure to volunteer for the games. It was especially beneficial for him that the top ranked trainee was eager to take his chances in the arena. After officially being cleared from his duty as a trainee, he got a job offer from a friend of my dad's, and he saw it as an opportunity to advance beyond anything he could hope for in district 4.

As I walk to my mom's rocking chair to take a seat, I think through the possibilities behind Xavier's sudden appearance. Before I can even sift through the options, Xavier interrupts my thoughts.

"I hear whispers."

Confused, I clear my head of previous thoughts and look up to him. "What?"

"You want to know why I'm really here, right?" My brother knows me too well. "Yeah," I respond quietly.

"I hear whispers Xerxes. District two is well connected to the Capital, even more so than we previously thought. From what I have heard, they're willing to do whatever it takes to get you into the games. Have you—"

"Why?!" I interrupt. "Why me?!"

Xavier is taken aback by my sudden burst.

"You know why they want you. You give them an opportunity they have never had before. Do you know how many stories have been used, reused, and recycled in the last 63 years? You give them something fresh Xerxes. You give the citizens of the capital a story they will remember for years, and you give the president a message to deliver that will crush any thoughts of a rebellion."

"I'm sure you're right Xavier, but I overheard Haman talking to a gamemaker last night when they both thought I had left the training center." Xavier is at attention.

"What did they say?" he asks.

"The gamemaker said that they aren't going to rig it this time. He said something about not needing to provoke any of the conspiracy theorists."

"Is that it?" he asks.

"Yes." I lie. I think it would be better if I didn't let him know about my intentions of killing Haman.

"Xerxes," he responds. "Have you thought through all of the possibilities? Of course they're not going to rig it so that you're reaped today. But maybe they'll do something else. They know you. They know your strengths and weaknesses. They know more about you than you could possibly imagine."

"If they don't pull my name today, what else could they possibly do Xavier? I'm not volunteering."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes!" I respond emphatically "Why would I do that to mom and Lilly?"

"What if a 12 year old is reaped? Xander didn't want to volunteer until he saw the Pinkerton kid walking up to the stage. Would you still keep your mouth shut if it happened again? Have you thought about the fact that every parent in the district is going to want you to volunteer if a younger kid is chosen? And the fact that if you don't volunteer you're going to face the scorn of the residents of this district for years to come?"

"Yes, Xavier," I say sharply. "I'm ready to face whatever comes my way. I'm not going to be a pawn of the system."

"Okay," he responds. "I just want you to be prepared for anything. Even if you think you're ready, they're going to throw something at you to try to catch you by surprise. Something just isn't right Xerxes. I can feel it."

I ponder his words. I can't think of anything they would do aside from getting me to volunteer, but I know he's right. It is always better to be ready for anything that might come my way.

"Thanks Xavier," I say genuinely. "I'm glad you came."

Xavier smiles. "I think it's time to get ready. I'll stay here with Lilly."

I put on my clothes and give Lilly a kiss on the forehead before heading out and making my way to Treadstone Cliff. I have to walk straight to the coast and then head east for three miles. Since today is a clear day, I can see the stage and the thousands of people already gathered as soon as I get to the beach. The walk is long, but I'm able to reach the cliff with about 15 minutes to spare.

Shortly after I arrive, I see my mother and give her a hug from behind. She turns around and gives me a rare smile. I think she can finally sense that her misery is almost over. Her smile relieves me more than she could possibly know.

"How are you doing mom?" I ask.

"Ask me that same question in about an hour," she says. "I love you Xerxes."

"I love you too mom."

While we're talking, I remember the piece of engraved wood I bought for her yesterday. I pull it out of my bag.

"Hey, I have something for you," I say as I hand the engraving to her. She examines the wording sketched into the wood.

"'Train up a child in the way he should go. Even when he is old, he should not depart from it. It's very nice Xerxes," she says. "Do you know what it is from?"

"Actually, no I was hoping you would know," I reply. "I want you to know something mom. I know that life has been hard, especially these last few years. But you're a great mother and you have done as good of a job as you could have done with the circumstances. My body may have been trained at the training center, but the training you gave me was much more valuable. You trained my mind. I'll never forget that mom and no matter what happens, I'm ready to raise my kids in the same way."

She smiles again and we hug one more time before I find my spot in my age group.

A few minutes pass when we're greeted by Synthyche Daevu, the capital's escort for our district. She goes through the normal routine that we have seen for years. The video about our nation's history plays, warning us about the rebellion and the ruins of district 13. The seven living champions who represented our district then take the stage with my father being the lone notable absence.

Due to the familiarity of having to come to this spot on the same day every year, and the thought of the warning that Xavier gave me, I find it hard to concentrate on any of the happenings until the actual reaping happens.

Finally after what seems to be an eternity, the giant glass bowls are uncovered. Synthyche pulls a slip of paper from the girls pool, and steps to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, the female representative of the 4th district for the 64th annual Hunger Games is," she opens the slip. "Carmen Villar." A 15 year old girl stumbles out of her group and walks to the stage. The shock and horror on her face is all too familiar as she takes the lonely walk up the steps to the stage. I begin to see tears streaming down her face before I can't take it anymore, and I look away.

My heart starts racing a little faster as Synthyche reaches in to the glass bowl and pulls out a boy's name. She walks slowly to the microphone. I turn and look back towards my mother who has her eyes squeezed shut as tightly as possible. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Haman who is coldly looking in my direction. He gives me a slight grin and I turn away in disgust. I turn back to look at Synthyche who is now at the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the male representative of the 64th annual Hunger Games is," she opens the slip. "Socrates Grey" My heart skips a beat and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Unfamiliar with the name, I look around to see who got chosen.

To my horror, I see a 12 year old kid limping his way to the stage. As he slowly walks, it appears that he is taking one step with his right leg, and dragging his left leg as if it appears that there's no life in it. His arm appears to be the same way, and it doesn't take me long to realize that the left half of his body is paralyzed.

The realization quickly hits everybody else in attendance. A few parents behind me scream their objections. One of the former victors jumps out of his chair and looks out towards my group, hoping somebody will volunteer. I turn and face my mom, who starts crying. I can see her mouthing the words "please, don't do it." Haman catches my attention with a fiery stare that would burn a hole in my heart if it could.

I think about Xavier's warning. He urged me to be ready for the unexpected, but this is too much. Can I really let this boy limp his way to a certain death in the arena when my chances of surviving are far greater. I think about Lilly. I think about how I want to go home and see her and pretend that this whole experience never happened.

The victor on the stage finally screams out, "will somebody please step in and volunteer for this kid! This is madness!"

My heart races. I weigh the options. I know I can win in the arena and spare Socrates' life. I know I can bring honor to the district, which hasn't had a winner in 17 years. I can't let this happen. If anyone else was the top male career trainee in the district, would he not volunteer in this kid's place?

That's it. I have to do it. I look back at my mom.

"I'm sorry," I whisper in her direction.

I turn to look back to the podium where I see Socrates and Carmen facing the citizens of our district. I hesitate to open my mouth. It takes every bit of energy I have in my body to say the words that I was so sure I was never going to say. I can feel the words coming up my throat and out of my mouth.

"I volunteer! I volunteer for the Hunger Games!"

I freeze. Did I just have an outer body experience? I heard the words, but I didn't feel my vocal chords vibrate. I make my way up towards the stage until I see a medium height redheaded male with pale white skin making his way toward the steps. Only then does it hit me. I didn't volunteer. The words didn't come out of my mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen we have a volunteer," Synthyche Daevu says with a sigh of relief. "What's your name young man?"

He mumbles a couple of words.

"I'm sorry," Synthyche replies. "Can you say that louder, into the microphone?"

The mystery volunteer steps forward. "My name is Sheamus Pinkerton," he says. The district gives a collective gasp.

Sheamus Pinkerton. Of all people, Sheamus Pinkerton was the one who volunteered. The same kid who mistakenly thought he got reaped for years ago. The same kid who ended up inadvertently playing a role in my brother's death. I don't believe it.

Before I can even begin to make sense of the preceding events, Synthyche steps back up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to present to you the male and female tributes of the 4th district for the 64th annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor."

The tributes' families come to the stage and give them their tearful goodbyes before they're whisked away to the Capital.

As soon as we're permitted I run my way through the crowd. I burst pass my mom towards the beach. Haman yells a few unpleasant words to me as I make my home, but I don't even care. There's only one person I can think about right now and I can't wait to get home to hold her in my arms, knowing that I now have the opportunity to spend many, many more years with her.

As I'm running, I feel a burst of energy that I haven't felt in a long time. A weight has been taken from my shoulders, and for the first time in my life, I can finally live the life I always wanted to live. Despite the distance, it only takes me 25 minutes to get home. I open the door to the sight of my brother in the same place I left him.

"Xavier!" I scream. "You're not going to belie—"

"You're here!" he screams back while jumping out of his chair. We hug each other tightly while jumping up and down. While we're settling down, I try to tell him the story of events. He sits in about as much shock as I had when I was actually going through it. I tell him about Socrates Grey and Sheamus Pinkerton it's as if I couldn't even make such a story up. I try to get through the story quickly so that I can talk to Lilly.

"Is she still asleep?" I ask.

"Yes," Xavier responds. "I don't know how she didn't wake up after all of our screams, but she's still in bed."

I go into the bedroom to see Lilly asleep on top of her blankets. Her cheek is pink due to the warm temperature in the room.

I take a seat beside her and gently put my fingers through her hair. She slowly comes to her senses, sits up, and gives me a hug.

"Hey sweetie," I say as I continue to comfort her. "You must have had a really long night to be sleeping so much."

"I was too scared and I couldn't sleep last night. I don't want you to go away. Are you still going away?"

"No, sweetie," I reply. "You don't need to worry anymore because I'm not going anywhere. I was afraid too, but we don't need to be afraid anymore. We're going to get to spend a lot more time together now. How does that sound?"

"That makes me really happy."

Her response melts my heart. The pure innocence of her words almost brings me to tears. "I love you Lilly," I say.

"I love you too daddy."

My three year old daughter gives me another hug. Never have her words been sweeter to my ears.


End file.
